Chasing Ghosts
by Raivis-Latvijas
Summary: The razorblade, the gun, the pills, and the noose. Bosnia, Serbia, Croatia, and Montenegro. Each of the four is so frail. They have tried many times, but cannot die. Sometimes, they are lucky to spare themselves. OCs. Sensitive themes. Inspired by the song "Chasing Ghosts" by the Amity Affliction.


**A/n: Inspired by the song "Chasing Ghosts" by The Amity Affliction. Dedicated to those lost by suicide, and written in hope that some can be saved.**

**Enjoy.**

**XxxxxxX**

Bosnia sits on the bathroom floor, typically neat dark brown hair a matted mess, bare-chested and in torn up jeans. His unshaven cheeks are wet with tears. His pale green eyes stare blankly as the liquid emotion streams from his eyes. In a calloused, scarred hand, he wields a razor. It has _**been done before**_; he's attempted it before, unsuccessfully. _**He cannot die**_, but he can't help but _**keep trying**_.

The memories hurt. Those years of war and agony; the Bosnian War, the genocides, the so many dead. The memories _**hurt worse than anything**_ ever felt. He has much to live for. His _**people**_; the Bosnians. His _**love**_; Montenegro. He does not live _**for himself**_, and he does not live for friends. He lives for his people, and for his love. But even knowing that Montenegro cares, and that his people care, and that there are so many who would hate to see him in such deplorable condition with such terrible wounds, he cannot _**bring himself to care**_.

He remembers _**everything**_, and it hurts. He has felt this many times. He has _**felt this way**_many times. He has wanted this for so long; for around twenty years. He has tried before. He had wanted to die, many times before. During the war and after. His chest feels so tight and his head is _**raging with emotion**_. He knows _**he will not succeed**_ in his attempt, but he takes the razorblade in his hand regardless and sets it to the skin opposite wrist.

=l=l=l=l=

Serbia sits in his bedroom, on the edge of his bed. His lightly curled blonde hair is unkempt, and his face is unshaven. His cheeks are wet from tears flowing out of his emerald eyes, and he sobs, the sound _**bitter**_ and melancholy. He grips with a free hand at the leg of his pants, then at the chest of his button-up shirt, then at the hair on his head. He _**can't get a grip**_, though he begs himself to. The gun is already in his hand, so he knows it is _**too late**_.

_**He's tried before**_. A bullet to the skull rendered him unconscious for only a few days. _**He cannot die**_. As a representation, he cannot die unless his people are wiped from the surface of the planet, or absorbed into the ranks of a different nationality. _**He knows this**_. He knows it all too well; he tried to kill a representation before. He _**tried to kill someone**_ who had been his _**best friend**_ at one point. He tried to kill Bosnia. Or at least, he tried to kill a portion of Bosnia. He had been _**manipulated**_ by his leaders, but he knows inside that he wasn't as _**insane**_ as he claims. He just is _**so afraid**_ to admit it. He has lost everything already though; _**what is the point**_?

There's a bullet in the chamber, and all he has to do is put it to his head, but he knows he cannot die. Maybe it'll put him out of his _**misery**_ for a few days, _**just like the last time**_. Maybe when he wakes, this time _**someone will care**_. Maybe when he wakes, he'll be _**forgiven**_ for what he did; what suffering he caused. Maybe _**he won't wake up**_ at all. He brings the gun to the side of his head and places his finger on the trigger.

=l=l=l=l=

Croatia sits in his living room, on the floor. His short black hair sticks out on end; his beard has grown a bit more than what is typical of him to have. His cheeks are wet with tears he feels he has _cried a thousand times_. His dark brown eyes _**don't care**_ to read the labels before them. He knows _**this won't work**_; it'll just make him terribly sick in the coming days.

He is _**numb**_ from the pills, but the emotions are _**still there**_. These countless bottles scattered on the floor would make a pharmacist shocked, but the fact that _**they are all empty**_ is something only he knows, and only something he will know for the _**rest of his life**_. No one knows that he does this, when he gets this pitiful. What reason does he have to attempt this? _**So many failures**_; it is all that he can remember. There was _**no victor**_ in the war. Just failures. The Croatian War; a failure on his part, as well as his _**former lover, **_Serbia's. It is all he can remember. _**There was no success**_, even in the adrenaline of a successful defense.

He knows taking more will _**only make him sicker**_, and make him _**more miserable**_ than he already is, but he cannot help but take more. It is his _**only escape**_. He doesn't feel any pain physically, and hopes that will spread to his _**broken mentality**_. He hopes, and picks up another bottle. He dumps the pills into his hand, and swallows them. He doesn't need water anymore; he is so used to taking them. He is _**so used to trying**_ this. He swallows more pills, and then picks up another bottle.

=l=l=l=l=

Montenegro stands in the garage of his home. His light brown hair is messier than usual. His face is unshaven. His calm green eyes are blurred with tears that fall, streaming down his cheeks. He wipes them away as he works with his soft hands. He works the rope; he knows _**it won't kill him**_, but maybe such a painful, suffocating thing will render him unconscious _**until someone finds him**_.

He just wants to escape. He has _**so much pressure**_ put on him to be something more, _**anything more**_; to be better and greater and shine through as _**something that he isn't**_. He just wants love; he _**can't live without it**_. He has it available; he has a love. He loves Bosnia, but _**no one accepts it**_. No one thinks it's right. No one will let love be. He cannot see Bosnia as he wants to, needs to. And _**he remembers why**_. He remembers what makes people so scornful towards their relationship. The wars that _**permanently ruined**_ the Balkan region. He knows that he himself _**never hurt anyone**_ in the Yugoslav Wars, but he could have done something to stop Serbia from killing _**so many people**_.

He knows this will _**only hurt**_, and he won't die, but it's temporary, and that's _**all he needs**_. He doesn't want to die, but he just _**wants to escape**_ for a while. He just _**wants to get away**_. He grabs a chair from the corner of the garage and goes to the center of the floor. He stands and ties the noose to the wood beam. It is _**so familiar**_ to him. He slips his head into the rope silently.

=l=l=l=l=

_**Bosnia… Been done before… he cannot die… keep trying… hurt worse than anything… people… love… for himself… bring himself to care… everything… felt this way… raging with emotion… he will not succeed…**_

_**Serbia… Bitter… can't get a grip… too late… he's tried before… he cannot die… he knows this… tried to kill someone… best friend…. manipulated… insane… so afraid… what is the point…?… misery… just like the last time… someone will care… forgiven… he won't wake up…**_

_**Croatia… don't care… this won't work… numb… still there… they are all empty… rest of his life… so many failures… no victor… former lover… there was no success… only make him sicker… more miserable… only escape… broken mentality… so used to trying…**_

_**Montenegro… It won't kill him… until someone finds him… so much pressure… anything more… something that he isn't… can't live without it… no one accepts it… he remembers why… permanently ruined… never hurt anyone… so many people… only hurt… all he needs… wants to escape… wants to get away… so familiar…**_

=l=l=l=l=_****_

Bosnia sits there, blade against the skin, but he hesitates. He cannot bring himself to drag the sharp edge across once again, like he had many times before. He doesn't know what is stopping him.

Serbia has his finger on the trigger, but he hesitates. He cannot bring himself to pull it and put yet another bullet in his head. He doesn't know what is stopping him.

Croatia has already taken so many pills, but he hesitates. He cannot bring himself to open it and swallow any more than he already has. He doesn't know what is stopping him.

Montenegro stands there, head in the noose, but he hesitates. He cannot bring himself to kick the chair out from under himself and dangle from the rope once again. He doesn't know what is stopping him.

=l=l=l=l=

With cheeks wet with tears, Bosnia sets the razorblade on the edge of the sink beside him, and gets to his feet.

With cheeks wet with tears, Serbia puts the gun on the nightstand next to his bed, and gets to his feet.

With cheeks wet with tears, Croatia sets the bottle of pills on the coffee table, and gets to his feet.

With cheeks wet with tears, Montenegro removes the noose from his neck and steps off of the stool.

He walks over to a neglected, dust-covered corner of the garage, and reaches into a nook, retrieving an old photo album. He opens it with a sigh, glancing over the photographs of the smiling faces of a former life.

They each have one, tucked away in some dirty, dusty, though unforgotten spot.

=l=l=l=l=

Bosnia needs it to remind himself that he used to smile, and used to be proud of who he was, and with some effort, maybe he could learn to be happy again.

Serbia needs it to remind himself that he was once sane, and he had no regrets, and with some effort, maybe he could forgive himself.

Croatia needs it to remind himself that he can be successful, and feel something positive, and with some effort, maybe he could care like he used to.

Montenegro needs it to remind himself that he is innocent, and loved back then, and with some effort, maybe he could be better than he is.

=l=l=l=l=

_**Are you at all haunted by memories past?**_

_**Are you ready to make this one breath your last?**_

_**Is your chest so heavy you're ready to leave?**_

_**Or are you just hoping that someone will grieve?**_

_**There's no one on the other side.**_

_**There's nothing more than what I had.**_

_**There's no ghost left to haunt you so you know I'm still here.**_

_**Please don't follow in my footsteps.**_

_**Cherish all you have left.**_


End file.
